Crescendo (Fortississimo)
by motorproteins
Summary: Yet another self-indulgent college AU Inozen one-shot, written for the prompt "a strange request at a piano bar."


Someone stumbles up to the piano when Zenitsu's halfway through a song. Something generic to fill the time between requests. He nods politely at the patron, and in a rare occurrence his fingers stumble on the keys.

Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe this guy. Long lashes frame jade green eyes, a slight flush coloring his cheeks rosy, the whole deal surrounded by wavy black hair dyed a royal blue at the ends. His skin is flawless, which only makes Zenitsu suddenly and horribly conscious of how oily his own face is at the moment and the fact that, this very morning, he'd found a pimple on his chin.

His shirt has one more button unbuttoned than is decent.

Zenitsu curses his disaster bisexual heart and wills himself not to rush through or mess up the rest of this piece. He's not a regular, or at least not a regular on Zenitsu's nights performing at the bar. There's no way someone this beautiful wouldn't have left an indelible mark on his memory. His heart flutters a little at the thought that he has this guy's undivided, if tipsy, attention.

But, when Zenitsu finishes the song, he just says (slurring slightly), "Teach me how to play." Definitely not what Zenitsu expected or is getting paid enough to deal with.

"Uh, sorry, I don't know that song," Zenitsu says with a forced smile. Twenty minutes into his first night, he'd finally understood why everyone had always warned him about customer service jobs, and he feels that dread oh so acutely. Too bad neither his college tuition nor Gramps' medical bills are going to pay themselves.

"I said, I wanna learn how to play this thing," the patron says, slapping the top of the piano. Zenitsu winces. Sure, it's a cheap upright that's seen better days, but still. You don't treat a piano like that.

"I'm not offering lessons right now," he says hesitantly. _Come on dude, we look around the same age, what makes you think I could teach you_, he doesn't say.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots another guy, a redhead with large dangling earrings who looks much more sober, pushing through the dimly lit bar, head frantically turning to scan all directions. He prays the redhead is searching for this troublemaker, but at the same time, a flash of jealousy shoots through him at the thought that they might've come here together, to what all the locals know isn't explicitly a gay bar but is certainly a very gay-friendly bar.

"You should. You're good."

He's at a loss for words, but he can't help but blush at the compliment.

Redhead spots the two of them, and a lightbulb goes off over his head. He starts doggedly making his way through the crowd to the stage tucked off in the corner.

"I can recommend some teachers in the area," Zenitsu offers, trying to stall for time as the guy's buddy closes in.

"I don't want that. I want you to teach me." He pulls out his wallet, and Zenitsu glances hopefully at the tip jar. Sure, this whole exchange has been kind of bizarre and not at all what he hoped for, but who's he to say no to a couple more bucks for the night?

Instead, the guy pulls out a receipt and, with a fingernail (his hands are nice, Zenitsu can't help but notice), clumsily scratches something on it.

"Call me when you start offering lessons," the guy orders, thrusting the receipt at Zenitsu. Redhead shows up at that moment, a mortified expression on his face.

"I'm so sorry," he says, grabbing onto Too-Many-Buttons-Unbuttoned's arm and steering him away. "He's more of a lightweight than we expected. I'm gonna grab him a cup of water, and we'll be out of your hair."

Zenitsu stares, first at their retreating backs, then at the paper in his hand. It's hard to read, but there it is: a name and a number. Hashibira Inosuke. In terms of names, it's a little out there. Maybe it's a pseudonym? That'd be pretty -

Oh god. Someone gave him their number. Unprompted. For business, sure, but still. He's going to need a minute to process this.

He doesn't actually get that minute until after closing time. To his disappointment but not surprise, Inosuke and his companion are long gone by then.

"You look glum," Tengen remarks as he wipes down the counter and Zenitsu counts up the bills in the tip jar. Zenitsu glares at him.

"Mind your own business."

Tengen launches into his usual "I'm the boss here and you're my lowly employee, how dare you talk to me like that, I'll fire your sorry ass" routine, but it's just that: routine. He's a bit obnoxious and hard to work with sometimes, but Tengen's understanding of Zenitsu's circumstances in a way that a lot of other people aren't. It probably helps that, as a musician himself, he knows Zenitsu's _good_, so he lets more than what's probably fair slide.

Zenitsu doesn't call Inosuke, of course. At least not anytime during the days following the Incident. It's midterms week, and Tengen forbids him from going in on his usual shifts so he can study and get a good night's sleep before his tests (he doesn't do either). So, it's not like he has a chance to meet Inosuke again and explain that no, he really doesn't offer piano lessons. If that's even a real thing he wants and not just the kind of bullshit people have a tendency to spout when drunk. Nah, he'll ignore the problem, and Inosuke will figure out on his own that this whole thing is stupid and Not Going to Happen.

When he gets back to his apartment after the ACM95 midterm he's pretty sure he failed, he's a little less married to that plan. If this whole electrical engineering degree doesn't pan out, he _could_ always teach music instead. The thought is kinda nice, actually. It couldn't hurt to get a little experience.

His thumb hovers over the newly added contact in his phone. Hashibira Inosuke. How much confidence does one have to have to show off that much chest?

No one picks up. Zenitsu honestly doesn't know what he expected and decides he's probably earned the right to take a too-long angst shower to mope. The name was definitely fake. The number faker. He's an idiot.

Right as the closes the bathroom door, though, his phone rings. His hands are (for no reason, he tries to tell himself) a little jittery as he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

Hashibira Inosuke.

Well damn. Looks like he didn't get had after all.

"Who is this?" demands a tinny voice before he can say anything. The voice is familiar but more aggressive than he remembers. So Inosuke's one of those friendly drunks, huh.

"This is Agatsuma Zenitsu," he says. After a pause, he adds, "The pianist from the bar."

"Oh."

Zenitsu catches the note of surprise with a sinking heart. Scratch that. He did get had. What an unpleasant nightmare rollercoaster of emotions this day has been. And it's not even noon yet.

"Have you decided to start teaching me piano?"

That is certainly a brash tone to take for such a shameless question. But Zenitsu's in a generous mood (if, unfortunately, not toward himself), so he humors Inosuke.

"Yeah, I thought I'd try it out. So you can be my first student."

"Awesome. I'll be the best student you've ever had."

Oh no. Maybe he'll regret this.

"You'll be the _only_ student I've ever had, so yes."

Inosuke guffaws, and as stupid as the sound is, as distorted as it is through the phone, it makes Zenitsu's head spin. In a nice way. An adrenaline-rushing-through-his-veins way.

"When do we start?"

"Hang on a second." Zenitsu takes his phone away from his ear and scrolls through his saved images for his term schedule. He's 99% sure he knows when all his classes are, but thinking is a little hard right now and he doesn't want to mess yet another thing up. "I can do Tuesdays 3 to 4pm starting this upcoming week if you can come to the university's practice rooms."

"Works for me. I go there anyway."

Intriguing. Zenitsu settles into a more comfortable position on the bathroom floor. Seeing as it's the bathroom floor, it's not all that comfortable.

"Oh, me too. I'm a EE junior. You?" He leans back against the wall. The fluffiness of his towel embraces his head.

"High energy physics." There's a bit of smugness in Inosuke's voice when he says it, but Zenitsu has to concede it's probably deserved, considering how worrying little of quantum mechanics makes sense to him even after taking the intro class. "Also a junior."

"Really? I don't think we've ever met. I don't remember you from any of the gen ed classes at least. Though to be fair, I fell asleep during a lot of the lectures."

"I never went to class." That. Well, that doesn't necessarily _contradict_ the image of Inosuke that Zenitsu's partially assembled in his mind. He lets out a little laugh, more of a quiet snort than anything.

Inosuke seems to take it the wrong way though and defensively asks, "What? I passed all my classes. I did super well too."

"No, no, I wasn't laughing at you," Zenitsu says, trying to placate him. Inosuke huffs, and an unexpected panic seizes Zenitsu. He continues, speaking a little too fast, "So, this coming Tuesday at 3pm?"

Silence. Then, "Yeah."

He relaxes muscles he didn't know he'd been tensing. _This will be fun_, he tells himself. _You're going to make the biggest fool of yourself_, his nerves tell him. He quashes both thoughts.

"Alright. You know where the music building is? It's across the street from the student services center. I'll meet you at the front entrance."

Inosuke grunts in response before abruptly hanging up without so much as a goodbye. Zenitsu stares at his phone screen for a few seconds, still not entirely sure what just happened or what's going to happen. The tile is uncomfortably cold.

He stands, strips off the clothes he's been wearing since yesterday (and yes, slept in), and treats himself to the long, hot shower he deserves in these trying times.

He does not cry, despite his earlier plan to do so.

The rest of the week passes by in one horrible blur, but at least he can celebrate a little after all his midterms are done (and celebrate he does when he gets his ACM95 score back - C's get degrees, babe!).

Monday night's shift at the bar is uneventful, save this man who inexplicably weeps the entire time he's there, repeatedly reassuring Tengen in a dissonantly level voice that he's feeling perfectly fine, thank you for your concern, young man. Tengen does not appreciate being called "young man," Zenitsu can tell.

Inosuke doesn't show up. Which, like, is perfectly fine. He has his own life after all. No need to stress out.

So, it's another day as usual. Zenitsu plays (and sings, of course) "Piano Man" for what feels like the fiftieth time since he started this part-time job around half a year ago. An occupational hazard no one warned him about, but alas, not one that he's entitled to any financial compensation for. Other than his wages and whatever tips the patrons deign to throw his way.

"Seriously, what's up? Having to look at your sad little face all the time is making me physically ill."

"Shut up," Zenitsu groans, rolling his eyes. He scrubs gently at a sticky spot on the piano lid where someone spilled their drink. If he finds out who did it, he's going to strangle them.

"Hey, I mean it," Tengen says. Zenitsu pauses at the softness of his tone, so unlike his usual annoying flamboyance. "You can talk to me about anything. I'm here for you."

After some hesitation, he gets back to his task and, pointedly refusing to make eye contact, mumbles, "It's just a stupid boy problem."

"Ah, so it's something like that, huh?" Tengen draws himself up to his full height, which is ridiculously and unfairly tall, and smacks one fist against his chest. "Well, I've got plenty of advice for you then. After all, I'm always swimming in attention from all sorts of admirers."

"I cannot express how much I _don't_ want any dating tips from you. I'd literally rather die."

"What the hell? I'll have you know I have three incredible, beautiful girlfriends."

For boasting about that fact yet again, Tengen moves up another spot on Zenitsu's shitlist. He's on track to reach the top before long. Maybe in two months or so.

Still, the space in his ribs grows a little warmer at the thought that someone genuinely cares. Even if in a self-absorbed way.

3pm Tuesday comes at a snail's pace until all of a sudden it's hurtling toward Zenitsu like a rogue baseball and oh shit oh shit oh shit he doesn't have a single clue what he's doing. He gets there twenty minutes early, spends ten of them debating whether or not he should go back and change into something nicer, then wastes the remaining time pacing back and forth, biting his nails down to the quick.

Inosuke, on the other hand, shows up three minutes late, still in his pyjamas, hair a mess. He's wearing a tank top with a cartoon boar head on it, and Zenitsu's legitimately proud that he manages to stop himself from staring at Inosuke's biceps.

"Tell me a bit about your musical background," Zenitsu says after he's seated Inosuke in front of a piano.

Looking barely at the edge of fully awake, Inosuke scratches his head. "Uh, I listen to music sometimes," he says.

"Can you read sheet music?" Zenitsu asks. Inosuke squints at him, the gears in his head evidently turning slowly as the machinery of his brain warms up.

"No. I never learned how to read."

Sighing, Zenitsu reaches back into the dim memories of his childhood, searching for the method by which he'd been taught. He finds a whole lot of other memories instead. Some of them fond. Many of them not. Oops, and that's enough of that, now.

Alright, time to wing it the patented Agatsuma Zenitsu (TM) way.

"So, the keyboard's broken up into these units called 'octaves.' Each one has eight white keys and five black keys." He plays a chromatic scale to demonstrate. "The white keys go from A to G," he continues, singing the notes as he presses them on the keyboard. Inosuke stares at him the whole time with those brilliant emerald eyes. He sweats a little.

"How come you started at C? Do you know how the alphabet works?"

"Oh. That was a scale. We can go into them in more depth later, but C major is the only scale that uses all the white keys. I guess A minor too, though just the natural minor."

There's smoke coming out of Inosuke's ears at the onslaught of new info. Wonderful. Really starting off on the right foot, buddy, Zenitsu berates himself. Kaigaku was right; he's a massive screw-up.

"Here, let's focus on learning how to read first."

They spend the hour going over the staves, clefs, and various notes and rests. Inosuke's a fairly quick learner - he's not a kid after all - but Zenitsu can sense his growing impatience as each new concept is introduced. Which makes Zenitsu more and more nervous as the lesson goes on.

"Ok, that's it for today," Zenitsu says at the end, bowled over by an incomprehensible mixture of relief, dejection, pride, and self-loathing. He starts gathering up the loose sheets of paper, now covered with scribbled musical notation, and stops as a thought occurs to him. "Do you still want to continue?"

"Yeah."

There's absolutely no hesitation in his voice. In fact, if anything, Inosuke looks a little confused by the fact that that matter was ever up for debate. Zenitsu's heart does some sort of hop, skip, slide to the left deal, and he almost drops everything he's holding onto the floor.

"Oh. Um, see you next week then. Same time, same place."

Contrary to many people's expectations, there's a limit to how much personal embarrassment he can suffer in one sitting, and he reached that threshold about fifteen minutes ago. He shoulders his bag and gets ready to bolt out of there as fast as he can (incidentally, very fast - the track and field coach has been hounding him to join the team ever since he was spotted sprinting to his Ph2 final after sleeping through five alarms).

He's stopped by Inosuke grabbing onto his wrist. At the contact, at that point of _contact_, electricity lights up his nerves, crackling, scorching. He's dead certain that if he examines his skin later, he'll find Inosuke's fingerprints burned into there.

His heart is going to explode.

"How much do I owe you?"

_Lift this horrible curse you've put on me and I'll be more than happy_, he wants to say but doesn't.

"I don't know if that was useful enough to you for me to accept any money," he says weakly instead.

Very few times in his life has he so badly wanted to disappear or be vaporized by a bolt of lightning or suddenly forget how human language works. But none of that happens of course, and he's stuck here in this present reality, facing the culmination of all the decisions he's ever made.

Inosuke frowns. He lets go of Zenitsu's wrist, digs around in his bag, and thrusts a wad of bills at his now-official piano teacher.

"I can't - "

"Take it. If I don't like you I'll fire you, and you can give it back then."

Again, that weird, weird bluntness that Zenitsu has come to associate with Inosuke in the short time they've known each other. Almost as if he'd been raised apart from all human contact by wild boars in the mountains or something. It's impossible for Zenitsu to decide whether Tengen or Inosuke is more of a three-Tylenol-stay-in-bed-and-do-nothing-all-day headache, but for whatever reason he seems to have a knack for getting his life tangled up with those kinds of people.

He writes about it in this week's letter to Gramps. Rereading it before sending it out, he's pretty sure the whole thing was some fever dream, some byproduct of the sleep deprivation his project course has forced on him. Gramps will probably get a laugh out of it.

The next week, Inosuke has forgotten everything they went over in the first lesson, and Zenitsu is a little less enamored, a little more frustrated.

"Did you practice any of this?" he asks when he has to go over what a half note is yet again. He's met with an intense scowl.

"No, why would I?"

Zenitsu chokes. He desperately needs around ten shots of vodka to get through this interaction, stat.

"How're you supposed to learn anything if you don't practice? I'm assigning you homework this week."

"What the hell?" Inosuke groans. "This isn't a class, I'm not doing work for you."

Zenitsu pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You're paying me to teach you how to do something, so it is, in fact, a class." And maybe it's time to quit before the sunk cost fallacy starts to take effect. Cut his losses before he's forced to actually deal with this grab bag of riling emotions he feels around Inosuke.

Unfortunately, Inosuke has a comically adorable pout, and Zenitsu has never claimed to be strong of heart or will. Dammit.

"Ok, how about this," he says slowly, thinking as he goes, "for every assignment you finish, I'll give you a sticker."

And it works - of course it works - because the people who love stickers the most in the world are little kids and college students. Inosuke perks back up and throws himself into the lesson with a renewed fervor that catches Zenitsu off-guard. Their remaining time is actually fairly enjoyable, tinged with that particular kind of happiness that comes from sharing something one is passionate about with another person who's equally passionate.

So, that's how he finds himself at the cutesy stationary store downtown browsing the sticker aisle. Aisles. There exist in this finite space more varieties of stickers than Zenitsu thought possible. Scratch-and-sniff or googly eyes? Puffy stickers? Shiny stickers? Which would Inosuke like most? His head spins.

He walks out having spent much more than he'd intended to. But, it's more than worth it to see Inosuke's eyes light up when presented with a smorgasbord of stickers to choose from, having sufficiently demonstrated his mastery of basic musical literacy.

"I'm gonna collect so many of these," he boasts after finally picking one out (it's a root beer-scented apple-shaped sticker, which makes no sense, but he finds it absolutely hilarious).

"Mhm," Zenitsu hums, nodding only partly sarcastically. "Gonna be the best student I've ever had, right?"

"Hell yeah."

They settle surprisingly easily into a routine. Sometimes Zenitsu spots Inosuke around campus, now that he knows to look. Inosuke's always heading somewhere, always single-mindedly focused on getting to whatever his next destination is. Zenitsu never says hi.

Sometimes Inosuke spots him first, and then he's greeted with an overly enthusiastic slap on the back or a noogie or some other physical contact that Zenitsu thinks they can't possible be close enough friends already to use. But, somehow it comes naturally with Inosuke, and if he feels a little lightheaded after a short and simple exchange of pleasantries (like some repressed Victorian gentlewoman or something), well, that's his own problem to deal with, isn't it?

They get lunch together once with the redhead who turns out to be Inosuke's roommate Tanjirou. Tanjirou has the patience of a fucking saint because Inosuke's stealing food off his plate the entire time they're eating. Zenitsu's not a fan of the bitter taste of jealousy that ruins the meal for him and lingers in his throat the next couple of days, during which he changes up all his usual routes so he can avoid running into Inosuke. The whole thing backfires, of course, because he just ends up running into Inosuke somewhere else.

"Stupid boy problems again?" Tengen asks him after work one night.

"_And_ finals are coming up," Zenitsu says, slumped over a table and wiping sad little circles over the same spot with a dirty rag.

"I'm telling you, you should just talk to him about it," Tengen says, plucking the rag out of Zenitsu's hand and shooing him away to another table to mope. It's reasonable advice and exactly what Gramps had said in his latest letter, the sentence written in all caps and underlined for extra emphasis. But.

"I can't think of anything more embarrassing than that," Zenitsu groans. "Do you know how much shit I got for doing that when I was younger? I'll die if I do it again. I'll up and have a heart attack at the tragically young age of twenty-one, and then you'll have to hire someone to replace me. Is that what you want?"

Tengen shoots him a look of disgust. "You're never going to get a date with that attitude."

Zenitsu opens his mouth to say that actually he's been on many a date in his life and even gone official with a few people before, but that was always with women, it's never worked out in the end, and guys are scarier, plus he isn't sure if Inosuke's gay in the first place, when his phone buzzes.

_carnival sat?_ Inosuke has texted him. Tengen is almost more excited than he is at this development.

"I don't even know what this means!" Zenitsu screeches as he tries to keep his phone out of Tengen's reach and view.

"He's asking if you want to go to the carnival this Saturday, you dumbass," Tengen says, eyes glittering. Zenitsu can tell his girlfriends are going to get this juicy piece of gossip as soon as he gets home. "You know, the one the city sets up every year in the fairground? It's a great date spot, by the way. This guy's got good taste, so hurry up and text him back already!"

"Fine!" he shouts. _sure_, he texts with shaky hands. Tengen looks like he's going to drop-kick Zenitsu right into the sun.

"That is, hands down, the lamest response I've ever had to read. Absolutely no flair, no glamour, no spice. Are you secretly straight? Because only a straight man could put so little effort into texting."

"Oh my god, don't you have a business to close up?"

"I'm just saying," Tengen sighs, throwing his hands up dramatically, "if you'd listened to any of my excellent advice, the two of you could've been making out right now like the horny teenagers you are. Instead, you're here alone, slacking off and wallowing in angst that _I_ have to deal with."

Zenitsu rolls his eyes but gets out of his seat to help Tengen put the chairs up.

"First, neither of us are teenagers, which you really should know because this place is a _bar_, and second, I'd still be stuck here working this shitty job. With you, to boot."

"I'm gonna fire you."

(_But not today_ is unspoken.)

Come Saturday, Zenitsu's running late, literally running, because he gets caught up trying on fifteen different outfits before settling on the first one he picked, then he can't find his keys or his wallet, and all of a sudden the bus is leaving in five minutes and he somehow still hasn't left his apartment.

He gets to the stop right as the driver is about to pull away. Inosuke's standing stubbornly on the steps, preventing the door from closing, and drags Zenitsu onto the bus. The whole situation makes Zenitsu desperately wish that he got hit by the bus instead; around a dozen people glare daggers at them, and a pretty girl flips them off.

Inosuke casually returns the gesture.

"Oh, is it just the two of us?" Zenitsu asks as they sit down. _Don't blush, don't blush, DON'T BLUSH_. He's definitely blushing.

Inosuke scowls. "Tanjirou and Genya told me about this place, so I invited you because I didn't want to third wheel their gross date all by myself, but then Tanjirou's idiot boyfriend sprained his ankle yesterday and they both bailed. So yeah, just us."

Everything after the phrase "Tanjirou's [idiot] boyfriend" doesn't quite make its way into Zenitsu's brain for processing. There's a buzzing white noise in his ears, and it's a little hard to breathe. He stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, unsure what else to do with them, and finds a sticker sheet he accidentally left in there. Puffy stickers. He squishes them to ground himself.

"So, uh." For the first time since they met, Inosuke looks a little lost, a little afraid almost. He cards his hands (his hands!) through his hair, twists the dyed ends absentmindedly, and asks, "Do you still want to go? Or is this too weird? We can get off at the next stop and walk back if you want."

"No, no, it sounds fun, and we're already here anyway, so we might as well," Zenitsu says hurriedly. Then, of course, he second guesses himself and whether or not he's reading the whole situation correctly and adds, "Unless you don't want to."

Inosuke visibly relaxes and smiles, not one of his usual cocky grins that often accompanies some out-of-left-field statement, but rather something warmer. And Zenitsu's that much more certain Inosuke's actually trying to send him signals and that it's not a false positive from his gaydar. Still, the nagging doubt remains, and he stays silent.

"Yeah, let's go. I heard they have great food. I'm gonna eat so much."

The bus goes over a pothole on the way, and Zenitsu's leg bumps into Inosuke's. Inosuke doesn't move. Zenitsu doesn't move either, even though he's screaming on the inside.

When they arrive, Zenitsu's not sure how he managed to go the last two years without checking out the carnival at least once because it's exactly the kind of distraction from finals cramming that he needs. There's all sorts of rides, rows of colorful booths stretching as far as the eye can see, people roaming around in all-out costumes complete with flashy masks, the whole works. His mouth waters at the smell coming from the food trucks, where the both of them immediately make a beeline for.

"You're right, this is good," Zenitsu says, inhaling a skewer of fried chicken like there's no tomorrow.

Inosuke responds, smugly, "I'm always right."

They wander around a bit, stomachs full now, taking in the scenes. Inosuke proposes they compete against each other at the basketball booth, and Zenitsu accepts even though he's fully aware of how terrible his aim is. Turns out Inosuke's not much better, and between them they make maybe five successful shots. One of them straight into a nearby trash can.

"Congrats on sucking a little less than I do," Zenitsu laughs when they're done. He pulls the stickers out of his pocket, plucks off a cartoon sun wearing sunglasses, and sticks in on Inosuke's cheek. "Here's your consolation prize!"

Inosuke's eyes widen, and his hand flies up to his face as if he'd been slapped. Zenitsu freezes, a deer caught in the headlights of Inosuke's unblinking green eyes.

Oh fuck.

"Let's go on a ride," Inosuke finally mumbles, turning and marching away abruptly. Still in a daze, Zenitsu nods uselessly and follows him through the crowd.

They stop at the ferris wheel, which sets off all sorts of alarms and sirens and "Fire Danger, Please Evacuate" text messages in his head. A nervous shiver goes down his spine. It catches Inosuke's attention, and he offers his jacket, to Zenitsu's utter embarrassment.

"A rugged mountain boy like me never gets cold," Inosuke says, insistent, over Zenitsu's protests that it's mid-spring and _really_ not at all chilly. So, Zenitsu climbs into the car, opposite from him, wearing two jackets like a fool. Though at least now he can pretend his palms are sweaty because of the extra jacket (smells like Inosuke) instead of his nerves.

The ferris wheel doesn't go all that high, but it's enough to offer them a novel view of the city. Inosuke has his face pressed up against one of the windows, pointing out all the familiar landmarks he can see. More focused on watching him than enjoying the scenery outside, Zenitsu hums quietly, tapping his fingers against the edge of his seat.

"How long have you been working at the bar?" The question catches him off-guard; Inosuke's still peering intently out the window, the cheek with the sticker on it facing Zenitsu. The sun smiles at him accusingly.

"Um, it's been a couple of months now. I started a little after my birthday last year. Why?"

Inosuke doesn't say anything for a while. They reach the top of the wheel, and it feels like time slows, like the world falls away except this tiny car with the two of them in it.

"I went to one lecture freshman year," Inosuke says at last. "Tanjirou dragged me out of bed and made me go. It was the chem lecture about oxidation states or something. Doesn't really matter. Point is, I remember you. You were sitting two rows down from us, and you were _snoring_."

He chortles at the memory. Zenitsu reddens. No one has ever told him he snores when he falls asleep in lectures. Sure explains how the chem prof noticed him sleeping way in the back of the giant lecture hall.

"We went to the bar for my birthday. I thought it was funny running into you there. I didn't picture the dumbass snoring through class as the type to be really good at piano, you know? And I was pretty drunk, so I decided to mess with you a little."

Hmm, that's not quite what Zenitsu wants to hear at the moment. His stomach twists into knots.

"But, I dunno, I kinda liked spending time with you, so I thought fuck it, I'll just go along with this until I get bored." His voice rises slightly in pitch and speed. "Except I never got bored? And instead I started feeling weird all the time, which was very upsetting, and stupid Tanjirou noticed - that was the fucking worst, by the way - and he kept asking me if I was ok until I talked to him about it, and I just - "

He breaks off with a frustrated grunt and turns to face Zenitsu for the first time since they got on the ride. His hands make some wild motions, none of them interpretable, and he settles for kicking at Zenitsu's shoes.

"Is this a confession?" Zenitsu asks, laughing weakly so that, if things go south, he can play it off as a joke later.

Inosuke's expression is dead serious.

"Yeah, it is. Go out with me. I'll be the best boyfriend you ever had."

They're starting to descend, Zeitsu dimly registers. Whatever deodorant or cologne Inosuke's wearing smells nice. Faintly earthy. He's overwhelmed. It's all overwhelming, overwhelmingly nice.

"I like you too," Zenitsu replies, warmth blossoming in his chest as he finally brings the words out into the light of day. Inosuke's eyes shine like he's won the grand prize of the basketball game they failed miserably at, like he's earned the world's most interesting sticker for a job excellently done, and in a flash he's sitting next to Zenitsu, their faces so tantalizingly close to each other.

"I want to kiss you," Inosuke declares.

Part of Zenitsu still isn't sure this is real, is scared he'll ruin this like he's ruined every other good thing he's ever had, so he chuckles nervously and says, "A teacher dating his student? That's pretty scandalous, isn't it?" Just to make sure they're really, _really_ on the same page about what's going on.

Inosuke leans back, and Zenitsu can suddenly breathe again, even if it feels like something is missing.

"Oh, that's easy. You're fired."

"I'm what?"

"I hated practicing _so much_," Inosuke continues, crossing his arms and pouting. "I already had a ton of shit to do, and then I was supposed to do even more shit on top of that? That was so fucked up." He takes a deep breath. "But, I wanted to keep seeing you, so I did it anyway. Maybe now we can see each other in a way that involves less homework?"

Zenitsu's on the verge of tears, and for whatever dumb reason, what comes out of his mouth is, "You don't like playing piano?"

Smooth. Real smooth. Tengen would definitely be proud.

Floundering a bit, his usual confidence wavering, Inosuke replies, "Uh, I liked it when you gave me stickers for doing well. Will you keep giving me stickers even though I fired you?"

Actually crying now, Zenitsu nods and sticks one on Inosuke's other cheek. A little bolt of lightning. Like the one that strikes him when he leans forward, eyes shut tight, and Inosuke grabs him and mashes their lips together. He's never done this before, Zenitsu can tell, because he's terrible at it. Way too much teeth. On the enthusiasm front, though, he certainly doesn't lose any points.

They probably look like quite a sight when they tumble out of the car at the bottom of the ferris wheel, Zenitsu with eyes still red from crying, Inosuke with two stickers on his face and his chest puffed out in pride. His hand grips Zenitsu's tightly as he pulls them through the crowd and under the shade of a tree.

"I'm glad Tanjirou's stupid boyfriend tripped on the stairs," Inosuke says. "Imagine being that bad at things. Sucks to be him."

"Seems a little harsh," Zenitsu laughs, "but I guess I agree. With the being kinda glad part."

"Yeah, of course. I told you, I'm always right."

Now that he knows it's ok to do it, Zenitsu wraps his arms around Inosuke. As he expects, there's a lot of solid muscle there. Nice.

Inosuke stands still for a while, as if he needs a moment to analyze and break down this new form of physical affection, before gingerly burying his face in the crook of Zenitsu's neck.

"What do you want to do next?" Zenitsu asks, squeezing him tighter, taking in the scent of his shampoo.

"I wanna kiss again," comes the muffled reply. Zenitsu snorts.

"I mean at the carnival, dummy. I heard there's a fireworks show at seven, and I want to stay for it."

Inosuke pulls away to look him in the eye. "Let's play more games. I'll win so many stickers."

And that he does, though not all of them are fairly earned. Some of them he gets because Zenitsu feels a surge of dizzying happiness glancing at him, or because he makes Zenitsu's heartbeat speed up with a simple touch, or because the sun catches his profile _just right_ and Zenitsu forgets to blink or breathe for a few seconds.

As dusk starts to fall, they stop by the food trucks again and grab a spot to eat. Their legs touch. Zenitsu is once again a repressed Victorian gentlewoman wooing her gentleman suitor (a generous description given the way Inosuke's scarfing down his dinner as if he's a shipwrecked sailor).

The fireworks are fun, set to pop music blaring out of speakers set up all throughout the fairground. Zenitsu rests his head on Inosuke's shoulder. Inosuke's arm snakes around his waist. It's definitely worth the wait.

His senses are all on fire. He presses a shy kiss to Inosuke's temple, and one thought overtakes his whole being, burning bright.

He will fight tooth and nail for this one, new good thing in his life.


End file.
